


Grounders

by Jodygoroar



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: AU, Character Mentions, F/M, Inspired By Tumblr, Sex, Shower Sex, Slow Build, Smut, Some Plot, gets explicit in chapter four, less smut than planned, more plot than intended, starts mature, strip club au, will become explicit
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-01
Updated: 2016-04-02
Packaged: 2018-05-17 16:41:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,315
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5878045
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jodygoroar/pseuds/Jodygoroar
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is a The 100 au about Bellamy and Clarke inspired by a post on Tumblr.</p><p>"Bellamy Blake has had trouble finding and keeping a job. He ends up as a bartender for a strip club called Grounders. There, he meets a ton of amazing people, but none as intriguing as the dancer that goes by the stage name Princess - with the sad eyes, whisky lips and sunshine blonde hair."</p><p>You can find the original post here: http://bellarklarolinetrash.tumblr.com/post/133114873445/i-want-your-whisky-mouth-a-modern-bellarke-au<br/>All credit for the idea goes to Bellarklarolinetrash, I just ran with it. Tumblr page: http://bellarklarolinetrash.tumblr.com/</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Princess

He’d been bartending at the club for two weeks now, it was a good job, if he could just manage to keep it this time. Bellamy had been hired and fired from more bars and clubs in the past year than he cared to count. He hoped this one would stick, he liked this club. The hours were good, it was decent pay, and the customers were interesting, to say the least.

It was Friday night, one of their busiest and Bellamy arrived promptly late, as usual, at five minutes after eight. He snuck in through the back door and punched his time card. Thankfully Marcus, his most recent boss, had a five-minute bubble policy. Any more than five minutes and you were late, but Bellamy was an expert at catching the clock just seconds before it hit the “you’re screwed” mark.

He stowed his jacket and keys in his locker and headed out of the backroom towards the bar. The entire club had a post-apocalyptic war zone feel. Broken wooden planks, and pieces of rusted scrap metal that used to be car parts littered the walls. The lights ranged from low and flickering to bright neon, depending on where in the club you were standing. The bar itself was a huge wooden surface held up by mismatching beams. The centerpiece was a sign above the bar spelling out the club’s name in twisted hunks of metal and wire; _Grounders_. It was a bit of an extreme sight to behold at first, but Bellamy had come to love the horrific cacophony of items that held the club together, and gave it it’s one of a kind atmosphere.

Stepping behind the bar, Bellamy tucked the notepad in his back pocket, his bottle opener in the other, and a pen behind his ear. He began pulling clean glasses from the industrial washer and setting up for the night when his favorite part of working at Grounders walked through the door.

She only came in on Friday and Saturday nights, she was one of the most requested girls at the club. Bellamy didn’t even know her real name he knew her only by her stage name; Princess. It fit her in a perfectly strange way. She was beautiful, blond waves that fell past her shoulders, sad blue eyes, and a single small mole at the left corner of her lips. He had only spoken to her a few times, usually when she ordered her regular shot of whiskey, drinking it in a single shot, kissing the edge of the glass, then licking the fiery taste from her lips.

The first time she’d done it he couldn’t help but stare at her, mesmerized by that whiskey mouth and her hair like sunshine under the neon lights of the club.

Tonight she walked right up to the bar, dropping her bag in front of him. “Hey Bellamy,” she greeted him, a bit of a smirk on her face.

“Hey, Princess,” he replied, returning her smirk with an arrogant smile of his own and wiping a bit of dust from the bar. He pulled two shot glasses and a bottle of Jack Daniels, pouring one for each of them.

She smiled more warmly then, noticing his attention to her favorite drink to start, and end, the night with. She picked up her glass and held it out, Bellamy grabbed his and clinked it against hers. The electricity that ran up his entire arm as their fingers grazed between the glasses sent heat spiraling through his entire body. It was the first physical contact he’d had with the Princess, and his reaction left him dizzy, and wanting.

“Thanks,” she winked, grabbed her bag, and hurried off towards the back to get ready.  
Dumbfounded, all Bellamy could do was nod after her. He cleared away the glasses on autopilot, and took a few deep breaths to clear his head.

 _The beer, you ass._ A sense of logic returning slowly to his brain, Bellamy continued prepping for the night. He went to the storage room and pulled the twelve cases of beer to fill the fridge.

By the time the club doors opening at nine he’d successfully, (well, mostly) shoved all thoughts of the enticing dancer from his mind, focusing instead on the job at hand. The bar filled quickly, as it always did on Fridays. Soon he was briskly walking back and forth behind the bar making drinks, popping beers, and filling orders. Time passed quickly the first two hours, men, and the occasional woman, ordering shots and mixed drinks. Skimpily clad waitresses carried trays to and from the bar, bringing drinks to seated customers, and returning with empty glasses.  
Bellamy worked quickly and efficiently, clearing trays, packing the dishwasher, chatting with the customers, and flirting halfheartedly with the girls.

At eleven, right on the dot, the lights in the club changed, all of them shifting towards the main stage, her music picking up, low at first, slowly increasing in volume and intensity. The lights cut off entirely a moment as the music dropped out, a gasp rising from the first timers in the crowd. A single spot light returned and shone on the center of the main stage. She began in a similar manner every week, one slender finger peaking between the red velvet curtains, she’d waggle that finger, _tsk tsk_ , and pull her hand back out of sight. Then the music came thundering in, she would throw the curtains wide and strut out in all her glory, the crowd cheering, nearly drowning out the thumbing bass line, and striking violin cords.

She moved with such grace and intensity, the entire club stopped and watched, even Bellamy was drawn in by her presence. All the other dancers had begun refusing to go on at all when she was on stage, there was no point they’d told Marcus. She sucked every breath from the club. She was a supernova, drawing everything in towards her.

As she strode across the stage in those soul-crushing black stilettos, clad in barely enough scraps of sequined black satin to be called lingerie, Bellamy felt his skin flush, his blood pounding through his veins, an uncontrollable desire for her racing through his body. The men seated in the front row reached towards her, desperate to get closer to the hypnotizing woman on stage. Several held bundles of cash, a few threw their money at her feet.

Princess ruled the club, she twirled and spun across the floor, flinging herself against the pole, throwing her hair around, twisting and contorting her luscious curves for the men to gawk at. Bellamy enjoyed the movement of her body, lithe and graceful as a ballerina across the stage, but he was more enthralled by her face. She was lost to the rest of the club, floating through her own world, focused on the music, driven by the rhythm in her body. She danced with eyes closed, having memorized the shape and orientation of the stage early on. She moved instinctually, without thought, feeling the beat deep in her being, losing herself in the joy of it.

Never once had he seen her touch a single dollar thrown at her feet. She always left the stage littered with paper, the busboy, called Murphy, would sweep the stage after her performance, while Raven and Lexa entertained the remaining customers on the second and third stages. She usually left the stage without a single look back, but tonight, she glanced, just barely, towards Bellamy. Then again he was probably imagining it.

The rest of the night progressed rather uneventfully, all in all business as usual. Once the doors closed behind the last stumbling customer, Bellamy cleaned up the bar, pulled out two shot glasses and waited patiently for her.

She did not disappoint, soon Princess came out from the back room, dressed once more in her jeans and grey sweater, carrying that brown leather bag of hers. Bellamy couldn’t resist the smile that crossed his face as she plopped down on the stool across from him, pouring Jack into each glass.

“Great show, as usual, Princess,” he told her.

“Thanks, Bell,” he paused a moment, no one had ever called him that except his little sister, Octavia. It warmed his heart to hear the endearment come from those whiskey lips of hers.

“You know,” he began, and drank his shot, “I don’t even know your real name.”

She smirked at him once more, swallowed her own shot, grabbed her bag from the bar, and said, “Clarke. My name’s Clarke.” With that, she walked straight out of the club, the bouncer, Nyko, leading her to her car.


	2. Clarke

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chapter two, from Clarke's point of view, continuing of plot and character development. Wait for it, guys...

_Get a hold of yourself, Griffin._ Clarke mentally slapped herself, willing her focus to return, shoving thoughts of her fingers running through brown curls so dark they were nearly black. Ever since that harmless connection of fingers between glass, she couldn’t shake him.

From the day Bellamy had been hired she’d found him arrogant and mildly self-centered, unfortunately for her, Clarke quickly learned it was mostly an act. She had been unable to ignore his interest in the people he worked with. He may not have liked everyone at Grounders, but he took it upon himself to looked after them. More than once Raven had mentioned his speedy response when a customer got a little too familiar with her backside. Even fierce and confident Lexa had been kind with her words, saying that he was a good ally to have in a business like theirs. Clarke was good friends with them both, and trusted their judge of his character.

Soon she began noticing his kindness for herself; taking the blame when the newest waitress, Harper, had toppled a tray of glasses, shattering every one, friendly conversation with Murphy, whom nobody seemed to like, even assisting Nyko remove some of the less polite customers from the bar when the occasion arose.

Then there was the matter of him anticipating her drink order, by the end of her first Saturday night since he began bartending, Bellamy had already learned her preferred drink and took it upon himself every night to join in her little ritual.

Since she left the club last night, his smile had been burned into her brain. He’d practically pumped his fist at learning her name, like it was some kind of precious treasure; the simple information of those five letters. How would it sound on his lips, her name spoken in that gravelly voice of his? She spent the drive home wondering at those dark chocolate eyes, shoving down the desire to touch the dimple in his chin with her delicate pinky finger.

A knock on the vanity table next to her dragged her back to the present, it was Raven, glittering with sweat and shimmer powder, long dark hair thrown over one shoulder, cocking a hip against the table, arms folded across her chest. She nearly glared at Clarke.

“Where is your head tonight, Griffin?” Raven was a good friend; it didn’t surprise Clarke that she’d noticed her wandering thoughts.

“Sorry,” she fumbled for an excuse, and settled on outright ignoring the question. Clarke pulled the cap on her black liner and finished her makeup, darkening the edges of her eyes, making the blue pop. “How’s the crowd tonight?” she asked, hoping to distract Raven from more questions she didn’t know how to answer.

A single dark brow raised, but she followed Clarke’s lead, “It’s a good crowd, they’re here for some fun, and willing to pay for it.” Raven plopped down in her seat, pulled a tissue from the box on her vanity, and wiped the sweat from her face, careful to leave her makeup intact.

“What time is it?” Clarke asked, hurrying to put the finishing touches on her eyes.

“You’ve got about three minutes, Princess,” Raven said, a clever wink and friendly smirk thrown in her direction.

Clarke scrambled to apply her ruby lipstick, “Shit,” she tousled her hair, perfectly imperfect, she was behind her carefully planned schedule.

_Too much daydreaming, Griffin._ Clarke hurriedly stepped into her stilettos and flung a hand over her shoulder, waving at Raven.

Clarke reached the curtain just in time to allow for her thirty seconds of meditation before she hit the stage, another vital part to her routine. She closed her eyes, took a deep, steadying breath, and was filled with nervous excitement as a pair of seductive brown eyes and an arrogant pair of lips whispering to her over a shot of whiskey filled her thoughts. _Princess_

The music swelled, and dropped out, she nearly missed her cue, dizzy from the adrenaline pumping through her veins at the remembered electricity that was her body’s response to a tiny bit of contact of fingers connecting between cold glass. She’d been much more cautious earlier this evening, avoiding his fingers as they toasted the start to another night.

Clarke poked her arm through the curtain, waggling her finger, silently teasing and admonishing the crowd. She pulled her arm back and grabbed the velvet, preparing herself: one more deep breath.

Ripping the curtains open, Clarke was momentarily half blinded by the spotlight. She strode to center stage, took hold of the pole with one hand and threw the other over her head and slowly, gliding her fingers down her neck, across her chest, and teasingly between her thighs. She opened her eyes, the only thing that came into focus was the watchful chocolate gaze, staring, trained on her every move.

Suddenly, she was dancing for only one person, sliding her fingers across her heated skin, imagining it was Bellamy’s scarred hands touching her, teasing her body. She pictured him sitting in her loft, dancing for him in the solitude of her private space. Clarke moved across the stage in a cloud of desire, her blood pumping, heart racing, desire spiking. Desire for him, for his touch, those eyes, that mouth.

By the end of her music, Clarke was gasping for breath, she caught herself gazing directly at him, and he was staring back in return, a fire in his dark eyes. Finally crawling out of the fog, the rest of the club came back into focus, the crowd was cheering louder than she’d ever heard, throwing money onto the stage at her feet. Clarke felt the heat of her desire, and mild embarrassment, warming her cheeks. She smiled with a confidence she didn’t quite feel and waved at the customers, striding quickly off stage.

Hardly noticing Lexa and Raven as she passed them backstage, Clarke slumped into the chair at her vanity, dropping her heated face into her hands, she shook her head.

“Get a hold of yourself,” she said adamantly, catching her flushed reflection in the mirror. She looked as though she’d just been fucked; blue eyes glistening and heavy lidded, lips swollen where she’d bit down more than once on stage, her pulse racing at the base of her throat.

If this is what a simple look and a bit of contact between fingers from yesterday did to her, surely she would catch fire and burn to a cinder when he kissed her.

“’When’?” she demanded of her unconscious thoughts. Clarke began removing the stage make up without thinking, wiping at the dark shadow on her eyes. Her every thought centered around those hands, strong and sure as he poured two perfectly measured shots, all the while his gaze never leaving her face. Most nights she looked forward to her end of the night drink with him. Tonight half of her dreaded it, and the other half was filled with a liquid fire in anticipation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's gonna get steamy from here on out. Smut ahoy.


	3. Bellamy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bellamy and Clarke continue to grow closer and share their first kiss in this chapter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is for Leah. You inspired me to finish my classwork early today so I could work on this chapter. Thank you for the push and I hope you enjoy it.

Bellamy attempted to ignore the throbbing in his veins and the swelling in his pants, but as he moved around behind the bar his swollen member ached for freedom. He silently cursed his procrastinating self for not doing a load of laundry; a layer of soft cotton boxers between his skin and the coarse fabric of his jeans would be greatly appreciated at the moment.

He’d thought she’d been enticing yesterday, but tonight, she had been a supernova just on the brink of collapse. Princess, _Clarke_ , the name rolled through his mind like a caressing whisper, had sucked him in like a black hole. She ripped every thought from his mind except for the flowing movement of her body, floating across the stage with an elegance like nothing he had ever seen. He imaged what she would look like, naked and wanting beneath him, his member hardening to the point of pain at the erotic picture. Then when she’d opened her eyes and gazed directly at him it was electric, fire blazing in the air between them. He was sure the sprinklers would drown the entire club trying to extinguish the blaze.

The moment he’d gotten his wits about himself, several minutes after she’d disappeared backstage, Bellamy had set aside two glasses and the last of the top shelf Glenn Levit scotch whiskey in preparation for closing time. More than one customer shot him depressed and irritated looks when he claimed they were out of the expensive spirit until the next delivery on Tuesday.

Every moment until closing blurred together in a dizzying haze of anticipation, frustration, and deafening, blood pumping desire. After what felt like an eternity Raven and Lexa finished their end of the night duo dance. They bowed, arms wrapped around the other’s waist, and sashayed off stage to deafening applause.

Slowly, one by one, the customers strode, or stumbled, to the exits.

It was _torture_.

After what felt like an eternity Grounders was empty but for Bellamy cleaning glasses, Murphy sweeping the floor, and Marcus counting out the registers. Lexa and Raven left, waving to Bellamy as they chatted excitedly about their plans to hit the beach the next day. The club grew dark as Nyko went around flipping light switches.

Nyko and Murphy, having finished their end of the night duties, waved to him and headed out the back door as well. Marcus retreated to his office, as was his usual habit at the end of every week, to go over the books, orders, and delivery receipts.

Finally, Bellamy was alone behind the bar in the main room of the club, procrastinating going home, he wiped down each and every glass… twice, hoping that Clarke would seek him out for that single shot she always took to unwind after closing. He was not disappointed, and he didn’t have to wait very long. Moments after Bellamy heard the music blasting form Marcus’s closed office door, she appeared before him, slinking silently from the back room.

His face broke in the most ridiculous grin, he probably looked completely insane, but he just couldn’t help himself. It must have been infectious because Clarke’s face lit up like the sun, her smile mirroring his.

He nodded at her in greeting, unsure he’d be able to control himself from saying all the thoughts slamming through his head if he opened his mouth.

“Hi,” she replied, breathlessly, her whiskey lips parting just slightly.

They stared at one another a moment, gazing into each other’s eyes, until Bellamy’s brain returned to functioning, and he reached below the bar for the secret stash he’d set aside for this exact moment.

He took a steadying breath as subtly as possible and told her, “I saved you something special.”

She cocked a single eyebrow at him and set her purse on the bar, sitting elegantly on the stool directly across from him. “What’s that?” she asked.

Placing the shot glasses on the bar between them, Bellamy made a show of presenting the top quality scotch whiskey to her. Her short gasp of surprise and appreciation told him he’d made the right choice. Even if the price of the two ounces of expensive alcohol had to come out of his paycheck, to his dying day Bellamy knew he would never regret this moment.

Clarke stared into his eyes as he poured their drinks, and when he looked up to catch her gaze she blushed beautifully, but held his stare boldly, bravely.

Bellamy held his glass out to her, when she lifted her own, he said, “To you, Princess,” his voice low and rumbling. He could see the shiver that went down her spine, and it sent fire through his veins. She felt the electricity, too. Maybe, just maybe, they were twin black holes circling one another, pulling the other closer to a collision that would shake the entire universe.

Their fingertips brushed ever so gently together as their glasses connected, and Bellamy knew they would burn the world down together. He was trying to figure out the right words to say when she surprised him once again, “You wanna get out of here?”

Every nerve in his body instantaneously surged, aching to follow her to the ends of the world and back again. “Yea,” his veins exploded into a raging river of flames, “let me just…” he cleaned up the glasses and threw the bottle into the recycling, hearing it shatter on contact. He mentally shrugged and said, “Alright, let’s go.”

Clarke smiled, grabbed her bag, and walked around to meet him at the end of the bar. She stood, one hand reaching out to touch the bar, blocking his way to the exit with her lithe body. He stepped in front of her, invading her space, enjoying the crackling air between them. It was as if she were testing him, and he wanted to prove himself worthy as desperately as he needed air to survive.

They leaned, slowly, into one another, eyes staring, breaths mingling. The tension was excruciating, and thrilling. Clearly Clarke had more resolve than he, Bellamy groaned and grasped her waist with one hand, pulling her the last few inches to him. He threw caution to the wind and slanted his lips across her, firmly pressing her into his body. Bellamy cupped her neck with his other hand and angled her head slightly to explore her mouth more completely. Clarke released her steadying grip on the edge of the bar and snuck under the hem of his shirt, touching soft fingers to the hard ridges of his abdomen.

He groaned at her tickling touch and slid the hand he had at her waist down to her lower back and pulled her firmly against his throbbing length. Her slight gasp was proof enough that she could feel his raging desire for her through the few layers of denim between them. She reached up with her other hand and sunk it into the soft dark curls at the nape of his neck.

The fire in his veins was matched only by the growing flames at the base of his spine. He pulled his lips from hers, desperate for air, and pressed his forehead against hers. “God, Clarke…”

She quietly moaned in agreement, “My car’s out back…”

Bellamy’s senses returned only long enough to understand her words before they scattered again. He ground his hips against hers and nodded, releasing her was torture and the only balm to his aching nerves was the thought he may be allowed to continue his exploration of her beautiful body before the night was over.

“Let’s go,” he said, his breath fanning across her lashes.

Clarke looked up at him once more, the internal debate obvious in her eyes, “In a minute,” she said before reaching up on her toes and slamming her lips across his again. She opened her mouth for him, her tongue touching against his, fingers searching greedily under his shirt and in his hair. He held her close, seeking out her soft skin with his hands. They stood, tangled in the other’s embrace for what could have been hours, kissing, touching, and learning.

They knew they had worn out their welcome when the last light shut off above them and Marcus shouted from the back room, “Go home you two.”

Clarke pulled away from him only far enough to look into his eyes, a small giggle bubbling up from her throat, her face aglow in the red light of the Exit sign.

Bellamy took her by the hand, lacing his fingers through hers, and led her out the door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next chapter will be fully rated E. Prepare yourself.


	4. Bellarke

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bellamy and Clarke go back to her place and get steamy in the shower. Smutty smut smut. [finally]

They drove in silence thick with sexual tension the five minutes to her house. Clarke lived in a little cottage style home on the edge of town, it was quiet there and that’s how she liked it. Her house was backed by national forest, often she walked, alone, through the woods, stopping to sketch the creatures she encountered. She’d loved the forest for as long as she could remember and never really questioned why.

She pulled into the driveway and snuck a glance at his appreciative nod at the serenity and seclusion of the area.

“I like this,” he nearly whispered. “It’s quiet. Peaceful…” he turned to look into her consuming gaze, even with the console, and a foot and a half of space between them he could feel the heat radiating from her, searing into his heart and down his spine.

Bellamy leaned towards her only slightly, testing, she gifted him with a movement that mirrored his own.

_Like gravity_ , he thought. “What now, Princess?” he asked, raising one dark brow at her, teasingly.

Clarke was about to tell him exactly what now, when the automatic dash lights turned off and they were thrown into complete blackness. They laughed, this was the second time in ten minutes that Bellamy and Clarke had been dropped into the dark.

“Come inside,” Clarke whispered into the night.

She’d leaned further towards him. Bellamy could feel the soft fan of her breath on his cheeks. He reached out blindly, his only guide was the intangible, undeniable pull that was growing stronger by the second. His aim was exact, slipping his right hand into her hair below her ear, wrapping around the back of her neck, drawing her lips to his in a searing kiss. His touch was gentle yet firm, leaving her no alternative, even if she’d been looking for one.

They explored each other slowly, not wanting to miss a single detail, should this perfection be lost tomorrow. Bellamy leaned far over the console, the need to press her body to his pushing him closer. She giggled at his clumsy movements. Reluctantly, Clarke placed a hand on his shoulder, stopping him.

“Come inside,” she repeated, opening the driver door, the dome light illuminating them. There was the most alluring flush spreading across her cheeks, that made Bellamy ache. He longed to see what other parts of her body flushed so perfectly as her desire rose and peaked.

Bellamy took one long gaze at her lips, _Those are mine_ , before turning away from her to step out of the car. Just as they had at the bar in Grounders, they walked around the car and met at the end. Standing facing one another, the mutual need rippling like waves between them. She leaned towards him, unstable on her feet, drunk with lust for him. Bellamy reached out with one hand and caught her around the waist, pulling her tight into his side and steering them towards her front door.

Clarke dropped her keys twice trying to fit the correct one into the lock, how was it possible he affected her so thoroughly? Bellamy stole every ounce of her concentration. He unknowingly sowed illicit thoughts in her mind with every jaw clench or eyebrow raise, adding to the pool of liquid fire low in her stomach. Shoving erotic images of what Bellamy was hiding under those plain t-shirts and jeans of his, Clarke took a deep breath and attempted the keys once more. Finally, success was hers. She decidedly ignored his watchful eyes as she went through the living room, suddenly nervous, flipping lights on and off, rambling about anything that came to mind.

Realizing what she was doing, Clarke stopped herself mid-flip on the overhead light, took a deep breath and turned towards him. Bellamy stood in her doorway like an Adonis. He was half-way through toeing off his second boot, his leather jacket already hung on the hook next to her second favorite coat. His obvious state of comfort helped to relax her excited mind. Clarke breathed deeply and shrugged off her preferred choice of leather, hanging it beside the others. Her scattered energy filed down to a single point, the glorious spot where his shirt had pulled away from his belt. She could see a thin patch of tanned skin underneath and suddenly her every thought focused on what his skin would taste like. Would her touch raise goose bumps across his body if she licked that spot, or would he be ticklish there, and laugh?

Moving across the room confidently, Clarke caught the front of that dark green piece of cotton and pulled it up over his head in one fluid motion, tossing it over her shoulder, she stared at the sculpted plains of his chest, the shallow valleys between muscles, and the sharp point of his hip bones above the waist of his jeans. She gently trailed her finger tips along the edge of denim, elated by the tensing of muscle beneath her touch and the catch in Bellamy’s breathing.

Clarke always showered when she came home from Grounders, it was part of her nightly winding down routine after the adrenaline rush of being on stage. As of late the showers had begun diving in temperature, plummeting to near freezing in any attempt to cool her heated blood, a fever burning through her, the name Bellamy whispering in her every cell.

Clarke snaked her index fingers through the belt loops on Bellamy’s hips. Tugging softly, she said, “Come on, I always need a shower after being at Grounders.”

A look of shock on Bellamy’s face quickly turned dark and hungry. “Mm, brave Princess,” he growled, following her without another thought.

Bellamy followed Clarke as she led him by a single belt loop to her large bathroom, it was outdated for certain, but luxurious none the less. The shower was huge, with multiple faucets. She left him standing there, staring at the surprising size of the bathroom in comparison to the small house, and walked to the shower. Clarke turned some knobs and quickly the room began to fill with steam.

She fiddled a moment longer, pulling towels from the closet and checking the water temperature twice more. Finally, as Bellamy thought he might explode standing there looking at her movements through the steam; like a nymph in the forest, Clarke turned to Bellamy and toyed with the hem of her blue V-neck shirt, beckoning him for his help with a single glance.

Bellamy had better plans, he stared right back at her, challenging, continuing the silent power play they’d been waging since that first meeting. He began to slowly stride towards her, giving his best seductive gaze, but rather than reaching out for her clothing, his fingers popped the button on his jeans, and pulled at the fabric, tugging the zipper down.

The sight of Bellamy Blake unbuttoning his jeans as he stepped assuredly towards her was the gasoline on the fire burning inside her. During her time as a dancer Clarke had seen more than her fair share of sexy men strip, but the intimacy of Bellamy shedding layers before her was an entirely different sensation. Her heart pounded in her chest and Clarke could barely catch her breath.

By the time he reached Clarke Bellamy’s fingers itched to feel her. Would her smooth skin burn his hands? Would they go nuclear and destroy the world around them? Would he be lost in the gravity of a supernova named Clarke Griffin?

Throwing any doubt or hesitation from his mind Bellamy caught Clarke up in his arms, quickly tugging her long sleeve shirt up over her head, pulling her against his naked chest. He captured her mouth, tasting her, nipping at her bottom lip.

Clarke shivered at the feeling of steam on her naked back and Bellamy’s rough hands cascading gently over her sides as he commanded her with his mouth. He reached behind her and undid the clasp of her bra, tugging the straps down her arms. Bellamy cupped her breasts, rubbing softly, soothingly, at the red marks from the underwire with his thumbs. Clarke’s legs trembled and she reached out to grasp at his steadying shoulders. She wound one hand up into his dark curls, gripping to keep her balance, and let the other wander across his chest and abdomen as he clamped one nipple between his teeth.

Clarke shouted at the sensation of his perfect teeth digging, ever so gently, around the tender flesh of her nipple, “Oh, Bellamy!”

Before she knew it Bellamy had stripped off her lace thong and his boxers, half pushing, half lifting her into the enormous shower.

Bellamy pinned her against the marble tile, nudging her legs apart with his knee and exploring her neck and collarbone with his mouth. She surrendered to him. For this moment, if not for any other, Clarke belonged to him. His throbbing member pressed hotly into her stomach, reminding her that she was not alone on this insane free fall through the unknown.

Clarke grasped desperately for her senses, she cupped his face in her hands and brought his gaze up to meet hers. “I need you,” she pleaded.

Bellamy was more than willing to give her what she wanted. _What **we** want._. He took both her hands in one of his and drew them up above her head, holding her against the cool tile with his body. His other hand roamed her curves, slick with water, while he positioned himself at her entrance. “You’ve got me,” he told her and inside he felt his heart beat in agreement.

A frightening feeling for Bellamy, but the second he looked back into her eyes, he found it was true, without meaning to he’d fallen in love with the beautiful, graceful, and brave Princess.

With that new knowledge rattling through his mind he looked into Clarke’s bright eyes and filled her in one swift movement. The pleasure of it dropped her head back and her eyes closed.

Clarke was on fire, the heat from the water on top of the boiling lake within her was too much. She tugged at her hands and without hesitation Bellamy released her. She blindly turned a knob, cooling the water. She caught his gaze and wrapped her legs more firmly around his lean waist. Clarke sank her fingers into his chocolate colored hair, fascinated by the texture of those damp curls.

Bellamy held her secure, his hands cupping the globes of her ass. He held her up and spread her slightly with his fingers, pressing into her welcoming body completely, pulling tortuously slowly away and sinking back to her again.

“Clarke,” he moaned against her cheek, his voice like gravel in her ears, the sound sent shivers down her spine. She clenched around him, drawing him in deeper.

“Oh, Bell,” she gasped, her every sense and cell shouting through her body. Her grip on his hair tightened and she pulled him to herself with her legs, pushing him on.

Bellamy thrust into her steadily, filling her fully, but drawing out every movement, making it last, teasing them both to the edge of insanity. He reached further under her ass with his right hand. Finding her clit Bellamy circled the bundle of nerves with his finger. It was slow unending torture, the kind you begged would never end, and yet every moment was too intense. He held on to his composure as long as he could, but when Clarke trembled around him, and moaned his name, a deep, guttural sound, he was hers completely. The rolling waves of her climax filled him and brought him crashing down beside her. Bellamy pulled himself unwillingly from her, finding his release against her taught stomach.

Bracing his arms on the wall on either side of her face, Bellamy ducked his head and kissed her sweetly, sated and yet wanting every part of her from this moment until forever. _I’m never going to be done with you, am I?_ He pressed his forehead against hers, breathing in the peace held precariously within the little bubble they’d created.

Clarke was as content as he to stand in the shower until next week, but the water began to run cold. Bellamy pulled her close and shut it off, he wrapped her snuggly in her favorite towel, _How’d he know it was this one?_ and placed a loving kiss on the top of her head.

Despite herself Clarke yawned, halfheartedly she covered her mouth with the back of her hand.

When Clarke yawned and her towel slipped so slightly Bellamy could feel his body respond immediately. He had more self-control than that, though, he wrapped her more snuggly in her towel and led her quietly to her bed.

Clarke climbed under the sheets sleepily, mumbling, “Stay.”

His heart swelled and a small smile softened his face at her quiet plea, “Ok, Princess,” he whispered and pulled her sleep heavy body back against him under the sheets.

Grunting, Clarke murmured, “Not, ‘rincess… don’t wike it… Clarke.”

Bellamy stifled a little chuckle at that and made a mental note to call her Princess as often as he possibly could in the hopes that she would say, “I don’t wike it,” one more time. His beautiful girl with the sunshine hair and whiskey lips. He would unravel her secrets and share his own in return.

_You’re in deep this time, Blake._ he thought to himself, looking at her soft face nestled in the warm cocoon of sleep, and he decided in that moment; she was, purely, “Worth it.”

The End

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry it took so long to get to the good stuff, but it turned out there was a lot more that needed to be written before that could happen. Thanks for reading and comments are amazing.


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